The fall semester is over, finally. I’ve been looking forward to this forever (at least that’s how it feels). So yesterday, I decided to tackle a job I’ve been putting off; building sideboards for my truck. I need them, not so much for myself, as for hauling a load of clothes and other donations out to Pine Ridge Indian Reservation. I’ve gotta say, I haven’t been looking forward to it, either building the sideboards or the long, long drive to S. Dakota the week before Christmas. On the other hand, at least I’ve got the time to do it. So I bit the bullet and got stuck into it. First, I had to take the stainless steel rail things off of my truck in order to get to the pockets for the sideboards. I thought, you know, how bad can that be? Four bolts and four screws, right? No big deal, ten, fifteen minutes, and I’d be set. Hahahahahahahahahah. Rust is some pretty incredible stuff.

Two hours later, I finally got the last bolt loose. I strained what muscles I have left in my arms and shoulders getting them off, but I did it. Mission accomplished! I’m still a man who can do stuff! Then of course, it was time to go to Lowe’s to get the plywood and hardware. I was extremely careful to make sure I got everything I needed. You guys know what I mean. None of us have ever managed to complete a project with less than two, and usually at least three or four, trips to the store. Well this time was going to be different! I was going to achieve the holy grail of modern American masculinity: I was going to come home with everything I needed to build those sideboards in one trip. I went over and over the plan in my head (because lists are for sissies, right guys?). I even moseyed up and down the aisles, browsing, just in case I noticed something I might need. Finally, I realized I really did have everything. I was going to be the first guy to ever accomplish this. I was gonna be a legend! People were going to point me out on the street to their sons and say, in a hushed and reverent voice, “Look, it’s HIM! He’s the ONE!” They were going to go bed at night, praying that their sons would grow up to be as manly as me.

I got home and got started building. Everything was going great, even better than I expected. I had to cut down the 2×4’s to fit the pockets of the truck – my cuts were perfect. They fit like a glove. It was all going so well. Then I hit a snag; the eyebolts I had bought were just a little bit too short. Okay, disappointing, but at least I’d remembered to buy them. Not only that, but I’d made sure to buy them the same size as the carriage bolts I was using, so I could go ahead and finish building them, and just stop off at Lowe’s the next time I was in the neighborhood and pick up longer eyebolts and just switch them out. I mean stopping by Lowe’s is not the same as having to make a special trip, right? Okay, so there might be a little less awe and reverence in those guy’s voices as they point me out to their kids, maybe I wouldn’t make the cover of American Manly Man magazine, but what the heck, right? As far as I was concerned, it still counts.

Then, out of the blue, disaster struck: I’d been so careful to make sure I had the right number of bolts, fender washers, lock washers. How did I manage to forget nuts? That’s just stupid. Who forgets nuts? My delusions of grandeur came crashing down around my ears. I was just an ordinary guy after all (and don’t say I told you so; especially you guys. You know you think the same thing every time you go to Lowe’s when you start a project).

It was all downhill after that. I managed to scrounge enough nuts by raiding my brother-in-law’s garage (thanks Ron!) to get one sideboard built. Then came the final blow; I couldn’t get the sideboard off the truck. When I was a kid, we had heavier sideboards than these, and I could just pop them out by myself no problem. Well not anymore. I fought and fought, but couldn’t get them out. Too short, too out of shape, too weak, too pitiful. Guys were going to be pointing me out to their sons with snickers, “Look, it’s HIM, heheheheh. He’s the ONE, hahahaha.” I felt so ashamed.

I had to wait until my wife, the lovely and tall Jess, came home from work so she could help me. My humiliation was complete.

Today wasn’t shaping up to be much better. When I got up, I was in fairly excruciating pain. Apparently, I strained every muscle I have, trying to get that stupid sideboard out. Everything hurts. I’m moving even more stiffly and robotically than normal. I am a tower of pain (okay, more of a well-rounded mound of pain, but you get the picture). I wanted to do some writing for fun, so I came to the computer and started checking out the Facebook, looking for inspiration. Nothing. just the usual round of political rants from both sides of the fence. It was really bumming me out.

I wanted to write something funny, something to brighten at least my own day, but couldn’t think of a thing. Everywhere I looked, just the usual depressing stuff; Terrorists, greedy capitalists, free-loading socialists, abortion, gun control, mass shootings, religious rants, etc. You know, Wednesday. There was nothing funny in the world. Everything sucked. Everybody sucked. I sucked.

In the midst of all this suckage, I gave up. I decided that I’d get some housework done. I managed to brush my teeth and take a shower without too much pain or self-loathing. I started in on the kitchen. Now I won’t say it’s clean, but I did manage to get the dishes done and all of the current bio-hazards taken care of. I started to do the laundry, but it turned out we’re out of softener. It’s no big deal to me, but the civilized and sophisticated Jess clings to a higher standard than I, so I just gave up until I could get some.

That left me with the computer. I remembered that we English geeks are having a white elephant gift exchange at the writing center tomorrow, so I decided to burn some cd’s for it. I know that technically it’s copyright infringement, and I’m against it, but I also figure that none of them have ever heard of these bands, and if one of these discs persuades someone to buy an album, then I’ve done the band a favor. So I started working on it. I put one or two songs from each album on a disc, enough to give a taste of each band’s oeuvre, without getting too carried away.

As a result, I spent about two hours just listening to music. Not just music though. Great music. Lucero, Todd Snider, Jay Farrar, and many others. Before I knew it, I felt so much better. Not physically of course, it still hurts to move anything but my fingers, but spiritually. The music reminded me of how blessed I am. I’ve got a beautiful and fantastic wife, the lovely and loving Jess, and great friends and family. I’ve got what’s left of my health, and my brain still functions pretty well. I’ve got a warm house, dependable transportation, and plenty of food. I’m not wealthy (financially anyway), but I’m doing okay. I don’t want for anything (other than a pain- and diet-free way to lose weight). I’m a lucky, no – check that – blessed guy.

I think about all the people, both in this country and out of it, who can’t say the same. People who live in no-shit real poverty. People whose neighborhoods are war zones, literally. People who actually have to worry about freezing to death in the winter, every winter. People who can’t feed their children. People who look at me and those like me like we’re Donald Trump (wealthy, I mean, not assholes). I think about that, and I’m glad I’ve got the time to take coats and gloves and stuff to S. Dakota, that I’ve got friends who can donate that stuff. I’m glad I’ve got a dependable truck and funds to make that drive. I’m glad I live in a country that people still want to come to because they believe it’ll make their lives better to be Americans (and I do believe that’s why 99.9 percent of them come).

Sometimes I just need a minute and a good song to remind me that things really aren’t as bad as I think; at least not for me. The trick is to keep trying to take what I’ve been blessed with to make somebody else’s life better too.